Not looking for any poetry comments, just sympathy – especially for the Boychen. The horse in this old poem of mine is going to the animal hospital tomorrow, and she won’t be coming home.
Of Apples and Autumn and Small Boys in Love With Horses
I choke on the calendar like an apple
I tried to get down in one bite when
even the horse knows to break it
open, crush it to a juicy softness
before swallowing. We have brought
her orchards of apples autumn after
autumn. You used to roll them under
the fence, and when you press now
your fingers together and reach out
over the wire, apple balanced in your
outstretched palm like an offering,
I see how you have grown.
I try to count autumns, the apples
that have crossed this fence line.
The horse lips it from your palm,
cracks it open, drools saliva
and apple juice. You pat her muzzle,
she sniffs around for more.
Finding nothing, she returns to the grass.
You walk up the road towards home.